


Possession

by tiptoe39



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom/sub, Frottage, M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:32:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BAMF!Castiel, pwned!Dean, sex ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession

It doesn't happen at all the way Dean expects it to. Not that Dean has been really devoting a lot of thought to the topic, but it's pretty obvious after a while that when Castiel looks at him sparks start to fly through the air, and he becomes aware of the invisible touches of emotions, intent and want and covetousness. The covetousness gets him most of all, because angels aren't supposed to covet. Neither are humans, he guesses, but he didn't really think angels were capable of it. The world is full of surprises.

But Castiel's so damn careful, about everything, fighting and speaking and moving. He even watches his thoughts. How can you help what you think? Still, Castiel tries. He tries not to think blasphemous things, tries not to doubt, tries to deny whenever Dean tells him that Castiel knows, deep down inside, that Dean's right. Like somebody's going to catch him the act that isn't even an act to begin with. Castiel's careful. So if it is Castiel's feelings he's sensing, Dean figures, the angel is going to be damn careful about those feelings, too. Admitting them. Talking about them. Acting on them.

Two out of three ain't bad.

It's after a fight. They're worn and bloodied. Dean's clinging to the wall of the old warehouse just to stay upright. He almost got ganked just now, like an amateur, but Castiel got behind the demon and knocked him to dust with the press of one hand. With no demon between them, there's just Cas and him and the wall. Dean looks up approvingly. "Badass," he says, a half-smile and a compliment.

Castiel doesn't smile, doesn't say anything in return. Dean's worried for a moment because Castiel usually asks if he's OK, but he's not asking, he's just looking. Looking at the gash in Dean's side. Looking at the wall behind him and at the clutch of his hand against the stone. Then he thrusts one hand forward and covers the torn skin with his palm. Dean gasps because it's warm-- no, hot-- searing burning heat-- but Castiel doesn't let go. He's soldering the skin together with the power in his hands. The same power that kills demons is healing human flesh, and it doesn't feel like healing, it feels like aggression and raw power. It hurts. Dean grits his teeth and makes a high strangled noise in his throat.

That's when Castiel steps in, close, and his other hand hits the stone next to Dean's face. He folds forward to rest his forearm entirely against the wall. His eyes are bright, wide and open. The gaze is searing Dean as surely as the healing heat, and he's open-mouthed, gaping like a codfish, utterly unsure of himself right now. He can't move, he can't balance, and Castiel is looking like him like he might just burn him to cinders and leave his impression black-charred in the wall.

Dean starts to say something, but he never gets as far as a syllable. The first sound is choked against Castiel's mouth.

Castiel's kiss is rough, ragged-edged, but as sure as the rest of him. There's no hesitation there, just heat, just sureness and ownership. Possession. Dean's owned, head to toe, by the ferocity of this mouth on his, tongue not teasing his mouth open but demanding entry. Dean opens obediently against him. He can feel Castiel's chest rumbling like groaning logs in a fireplace a second away from catching the flame. Dean's side is in one piece again, and Castiel's hand leaves the site of the wound and moves down to hold him steady, cup his backside and squeeze.

Dean's lost in the sheer power of him. He needs to find his footing. His hands come forward and grab the lapels of Castiel's coat, one fist on each flap of fabric, and pulls Castiel to him as sure as the angel is already bearing down. His tongue flicks out to taste Castiel's mouth, and he raises his hips, hard juts of bone against Castiel's wiry frame. Neither gives an inch or a second. But Dean's losing this battle. He has been losing from the moment Castiel first set those uncompromising eyes on him.

Castiel knows what he wants. From the moment he started this, he knew. He rides Dean up against the wall, parting his thighs to stand between them, and grinds Dean's cock into the hard knot of his stomach muscles. Dean gives a groan and holds on tight as the friction sends another burning jolt of uncomfortable heat through him. He wants to stop Castiel, to say _stop, wait, that will hurt tomorrow, it chafes,_, but Castiel isn't letting him breathe, much less speak. He ends up making noises against Castiel's unrelenting mouth that can't be translated into words. It's not for lack of trying. It's just that Cas will hear no arguments.

Every struggle, every attempt he gives to push Castiel away or straighten him out ends up grinding Dean harder into the wall, adds another degree to the heat and another knot to the twisted pressure building inside him. Castiel's mouth is bruising his now, punishing, brutal, and the soft noise of the angel's breaths rasps in his ears, a series of quick ins and outs. At one point Cas swallows, and Dean feels in acute detail the movement of his Adam's apple against his throat. He slides his hands up around the nape of Castiel's neck and clings to him.

The stone rides hard against Dean's back, but his hips are safe cupped in Cas's hands, being pulled in like a regular tide to clash with Castiel's core over and over again in a rhythmic undulation. The tension is so high, Dean's so hard, and pleasure's racing through his system along with the discomfort and the defeat and the pain. With every knock together and rub-chafe-slide he's getting harder, closer to his limits. Castiel's rutting against him like a dog in heat, his movements short and quick and rough. He's panting against Dean's mouth. He's starting to let the kisses break more frequently, and finally he leans forward and buries his head in Dean's neck, his lips closing wet and hot around a space of soft skin beneath the lobe of Dean's ear. Shivers explode through Dean, and he arches up and comes hard against Castiel's thrusts. He gives a cry that still doesn't form a word. Castiel's mouth isn't stopping his anymore, but the ability to make words has been stolen from him by too many ravaging kisses.

Against him and around him, Castiel ratchets up his own pace. He's working hard and driving himself forward toward an orgasm that he's been holding back for minutes, days now, maybe weeks, maybe ever since he first met Dean's eyes and the seeds of desire first struck. Castiel takes, roughly, doesn't ease up or acknowledge at all that Dean's already come, just keeps pushing and grating until a shout erupts near Dean's ear and hands on his ass squeeze hard enough to bruise. He can feel wetness spreading across the front of Cas' pants. It makes Dean shiver and almost smile.

He claws through Castiel's hair, holding him steady. Now it's the angel who needs him for support. Castiel's knees shake and his hold falters. Dean keeps the embrace tight. A shivering angel in his grasp. He's silent. It's too precious a treasure to ruin with words.

When Castiel is ready, he draws back to look at Dean. His eyes betray a hint, just a hint of fear as their gazes meet. Dean meets it with unafraid acceptance, and the hardness goes back into Cas' expression almost immediately. They both know what's just happened between them, what's been happening since they met. There's an understanding between them now. They don't need to talk about it. It's there.

Dean's knees wobble as he finds his balance again. He feels good as new, no, better, but the weight of the universe has shifted. Castiel's possession is singing through his blood. They belong to each other now, and to a passion that's bigger than the both of them combined. They _will_ be doing this again. That makes Dean's heart thump and his smile stretch into a wide, stupid line pasted across the front of his face.

He looks away and Castiel's already gone. Not a word. None needed. Until next time.


End file.
